Wigged Out Again
by A Damned Scientist
Summary: Jool and Sikozu argue about hair. They go to Captain Aeryn Sun to adjudicate. AU, post PKW, written for SC63. Crichton and Chiana also feature, and Noranti even gets a mention.


**Wigged Out Again (G)**

Setting: I'm vague. Sometime after PKW, in some alternate universe of my own liking. I suspect that John may be having second thoughts about the make up of the crew these days, though.

Warnings: If reading about bad-hair-days upsets you, then stop now.

Yes, it's about hair. Some of you may have noticed a fetish for the jirls' hair in some of my previous fics. I reckon it's time to 'lampshade' that.

This fic is called Wigged Out Again because I've already written a story called Wigged Out. That was a (PG-13) microfic. It's not really related to this fic, though. Well, no more than any Farscape fic with John and Aeryn and hair in it is related to any other which also contains John and Aeryn and hair.

Thanks: Vinegardog for the beta and K'Lara7 for the read-through.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Not Jool's, either, it would seem. Or is that a spoiler?

Words: 1274. These notes are almost as long as the story. Tsk!

**Wigged Out Again (G)**

Jool was incandescent with rage, her long, straggly, and indeed somewhat unkempt curls broadcasting her emotions from every flaming orangey-red rat-tail.

"Two frelling cycles on that primitive planet - not a hairdresser in sight! I NEED that stuff!" Jool shrieked at Sikozu, volume increasing even as her hair somehow managed to redden further. John stood between them, both arms outstretched, doing his best to keep Jool from clawing Sikozu's eyes out and Sikozu from using her razor-sharp tongue to restyle Jool's head.

"Well, there's no denying that your hair would benefit from a good comb," Sikozu bit back with her characteristic smugness. She dodged around, her body seeming to conspire with John's hand to prevent her getting closer to the angry Interion. "Not to say a good wash." She added, wrinkling her nose to suggest an unpleasant smell was in the air. "But that doesn't change the fact that those are my things."

Tensions had been rising aboard Moya since they had returned to Arnessk to pick up Jool. She'd been in a dreadful state, her appearance even more dishevelled than when they had last seen her, during the war. However, her appearance was as nothing to John's frazzled nerves. He was now the only male aboard, other than Pilot and baby D'Argo, amongst a crew otherwise comprised of five ill-matched adult females. He was starting to wonder if there was a deep-space equivalent of a garden shed that he could use as a refuge from their constant disagreements. Except if he did, knowing his luck, he reckoned that Noranti would probably sneak in and try to grow something illegal and mind altering. Besides, whenever he thought of sheds nowadays, he also thought of Jool and her casting hair.

"Gahhh!" Jool responded in exasperation, stamping her foot. John decided that action was needed before exasperation turned to ear splitting scream.

"Look, you two have been at each others throats all day…. !" John pointed out. Two red-heads on one small crew! How could he have not foreseen that such a combination was never going to end well?

"She started it. She took my things!" Sikozu pouted and pointed.

"And I'm finishing it!" John interjected, heading off a lunge from Jool by grabbing her around the waist. Holding her back was harder than he'd imagined: She was a well-built woman and a lot of it was muscle. He felt a brief moment of panic, worried that Aeryn might find out that he had discovered that in such a touchy-feely way.

"I've had all I can take today of all the hot air you two are blowing around." John shouted at them, attempting to subdue an angry Jool with both arms. She was quite a handful, in more ways that one. Please, please don't let Aeryn find out I know that, or how I know that, he silently pleaded to the Fates. "I got the DRDs to take all the stuff they could find to Aeryn. She's the Captain now. She can decide who gets the curlers and who gets the straighteners!"

"It's not FAIR!" Jool protested, whilst Sikozu just kept smiling the smile of one who was supremely self-confident that right was on her side.

"Well let us go and talk to Aeryn, then." Sikozu crowed, pointedly staring at Jool and John. "I'm sure that she will be even-handed."

'~'

Jool and Sikozu marched into Aeryn and John's quarters, both self-righteously determined to stake their claim over a share of the hair care equipment and potions which had been gathered by the DRDs from every corner of Moya.

They both stopped on the threshold of the room, taken aback by the unexpected sights before them. Captain Aeryn Sun-Crichton, scourge of the Scarrans, Assassin of the Prime Hokathian, was sitting primly on a chair in the centre of her bed chamber whilst Chiana fussed around her. A set of Earth's finest curling tongs were clearly visible in one of the Nebari's hands.

"That's my…" Sikozu began, her hand pointing accusingly towards Aeryn and Chiana.

"I need these things!" Jool whined gesturing wildly at assorted items. Chiana laughed, seemingly in agreement with Jool's unflattering assessment of the state of her own hair.

"How dare you two…? Barging in without knocking?" Aeryn demanded, a stern mask dropping across her previously serene features, although most observers would have had difficulty telling the difference.

"Can't you see we're busy?" Chiana backed Aeryn up with a sharp nod.

"We could have been doing anything." Aeryn continued.

"Yeah, anything," Chiana added, waving the tongs at the intruders. "Private stuff."

Jool and Sikozu were flummoxed, and not just by Aeryn and Chiana's lack of welcome. Their eyes widened as they took in the numerous wig-mannequins lining the walls of Aeryn's quarters. Each one bore a different set of false tresses: Long, black and straight; blonde and elaborately arranged, complete with tiara; spiky and white, like Chiana's; wizened and grey and many, many more. There seemed to be a hairpiece for every occasion. And scattered amongst them were all of the hair care products that Sikozu had purchased on Earth and a multitude of similar items besides.

A set of heated rollers, lying beside the 'Princess wig', caught Sikozu's eye and she took a step towards them, only to be blocked by Aeryn rising to her feet.

"But those are MINE! They're the only worthwhile things I found on Crichton's pathetic excuse for a planet!" Sikozu protested loudly and with typical conviction and effrontery. However, she fell silent when she realised that not only were Aeryn's storm-grey eyes glowering at her, the Sebacean's unusually elegantly-manicured fingernails were drumming on the stock of the pulse pistol habitually strapped to her thigh.

"That remains to be determined," Aeryn stated flatly from between rouged lips.

"Don't be stupid, you know they're mine!" Sikozu snarled back. Jool plucked at the Kalish' sleeve as a warning to be more careful with her words, but it was already too late. Anticipating the worst, the Interion had already half-turned to prepare for a hasty retreat.

"You should leave, Sikozu." Aeryn responded so coldly that the temperature in the room actually seemed to drop. "I mean, out of my quarters."

"We'd better go. You know how cranky she's been since having the baby…" Jool remarked unadvisedly, whispering in Sikozu's ear and tugging at her arm.

"Aeryn's always cranky," Sikozu replied without thinking.

Unfortunately for the hapless red-heads, Aeryn appeared to have heard them: The captain's black-painted fingernails stopped their drumming and curled purposefully around the stock of her gun. The two visitors needed no further warning - they knew what would come next if they tarried further. Amazingly, they both managed to flee through the door a microt before Aeryn finished drawing and levelling her gun.

"Run! Run quickly!" Sikozu could be heard to cry between Jool's outraged protests as the sounds of their feet receded down the corridor.

"Aren't you a bit worried? I mean, they both seemed pretty determined to claim all this junk." Chiana asked as Aeryn stood, statue-like for a few microts, before spinning the pistol swiftly back and forth around her finger and then reholstering it. It was just like something out of one of John's cowboy movies.

"No," Aeryn remarked, a satisfied half smile spreading outwards from her lips, across subtly highlighted cheekbones until it reached her lightly shaded and lined eyes. She settled back into her seat as Chiana hefted the curling tongs, ready to return to her task. "They won't dare do anything. After all, none of this stuff is really to dye for."

The end. Thank you for reading.


End file.
